Silver King

Chapter 7 - Mare

I'm not so stupid as to think that Cal left the stage, leaving everyone mouth open and gasping, for me. I know he was simply too much of a coward to follow this through.

At least that's what I keep telling myself.

My heart is screaming in despair, trying to take over my head and let hope flow through me. My mind is trying to silence it, telling me that Cal left me behind, chose the crown over the lightning girl and all the love she could give him. She, she, she. As if the pronoun will change how painfully I remember that moment. I'm trying to make it seem as if it happened to someone else, as if my own heart isn't still shattered in a million pieces.

It's not very effective.

I'm curled up on the floor, between other Guardsmen, all standing tall and smiling – for most of them, it's a fake smile –, while I sit on the floor, my arms safely wrapped around my legs brought up to my stomach. I don't want to be seen. I've been carefully avoiding Cal for the past months, and it's for a reason. If that's his decision, might as well go through with it.

That, too, is something my mind says.

My heart says I avoid him because I can't bear to see his bronze eyes flicker in the daylight, or his lean muscles pulsing under his clothes, or his short hair my hands have spent so much time into. Too many memories of good times would come back. Even more than they already do. I can count on the fingers of my hand the number of nights I fell asleep not shedding a tear because of what could have been.

I think sometimes my heart is smarter than my mind. Or, at least, it doesn't lie through gritted teeth.

Evangeline comes on the stage. She tries to cover it up. She's not very good. Even I can tell she's secretly happy of this. But then again, maybe she doesn't even know it. It would seem she is quite oblivious to her own feelings. Sometimes I pity her, in love and dying to live it openly and yet not truly realizing it. Then I remember the situation I am in and take back my pity. To pity someone, you must be in a better situation, don't you? And I can't say my love life is much more satisfying than Evangeline Samos'. At least someone is waiting for her at home, very much in love with her. My love will never come back. And I'll never love someone like I did – do – Cal. True love never really dies, does it? Sometimes I hope it did, because then I wouldn't be stricken in grief for someone who is still very much alive, and very much not in love with me. Nonsense, he's in love with you, all right, Gisa says. Right. If love is breaking the heart of the person who sees in you more than a god, then I'd rather know suicide than love. And I don't mean it as a joke. What happened hurt, thank you very much, and I have thought about ending it all several times.

Ten minutes later, I am still on the floor, my ears buzzing with useless conversations I keep overhearing, and the one thing I really want to hear still not coming. Cal's voice. Not that I want to float in the torture of hearing the same voice who told me he loved me and wanted me more than anything else in this world saying positive things about monarchy. No, I simply want this to be over. Done with. In someone else's hands.

But, then again, maybe I do want torture. The sweet torture that are memories of loving words whispered against burning skin.

They're all I have.